Another Day, Another Case
by Theinsanefangirl
Summary: Watson and Sherlock Holmes constantly solve cases. Mary is fed up with it. A complicated case. What will happen when Holmes realizes he cares more for Irene than he would like? Mary/Watson Holmes/Irene, thanks to Kerit3h Ninja for the ideas in chapter 10
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I recently saw Sherlock Holmes, and it inspired this fanfic. I am sorry I am putting my Inuyasha and Bleach fanfics on a hiatus for a little bit. Enjoy this one though! Remember, I take requests.

Another Day, Another Case

Solving crimes is what their lives revolved around. Even with Dr. John Watson married, he found himself rushing to Sherlock Holmes's aid whenever there was a case that needed attention. Watson found them to be nuisances, while Holmes found them to be comforting and a sense of peace. He would rather live on the streets than to stop solving crimes. Mary Morstan kept herself at ease by knitting or reading during her husband's absence. However, cases kept coming their way, and he was taken away from her often. She wanted to do something about it, but she knew Watson was happy with what he did, and she would be a horrible wife if she took his happiness away from him. During their case, Holmes and Watson had to find out who had murdered a man's wife. She was found on the bed, covered only by a towel, and blood gushing from her sides. There was no weapon found, which meant the murderer took it with him. There was a purplish mark on her neck, telling Holmes that he first tried to strangle her, but was unsuccessful. Outside of their bedroom window was a ladder that was used by the person in order to get inside the house. As he climbed, he slipped a bit, which was proven by the smudges of dirt going down the ladder. Having slipped, one of his shoes fell off. He paid no attention to it, as he did not go down to retrieve it, and instead, carried on into the house. The shoe was a man's dress shoe, which proved the murderer was a man. The case did not take long.

"After much thought," Holmes started. Watson scoffed in the background, knowing it take long for him to say "I've solved the case!" He shot a glare at him, but smiled nonetheless, "I have come to a conclusion. Mr. Jones, it is with great sorrow that I tell you what happened."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" Nicholas asked.

"The murder of Mrs. Jillian Jones was committed by none other than…." He raised his hand and pointed his index finger at Nicholas. "…Mr. Jones himself!" There were gasps and murmurs. Nicholas couldn't believe his ears.

"What?" He yelled. "How could you think I would murder my wife?"  
"What's the answer, Holmes?" Watson asked, interested in Holmes's answer.

"He had a rock-solid alibi!" Lestrade screamed. Holmes sat down in a chair, his eyes closed, rubbing his temples. It was completely silent safe for a cat meowing outside.

"I'll tell you!" Holmes yelled out of nowhere, jumping from his seat. Everyone else jumped at the sudden break of silence. "The person, Miss Morrison, was it? She was paid to make up a fake alibi for Mr. Jones."  
"Preposterous!" Nicholas spat. "Have you any proof?" Holmes stayed silent, and Nicholas smile in triumph. It seemed to Watson Holmes had met his match.

"Indeed, I do." He smiled. He nodded at a dark figure, which scrambled to its feet and came into the room. It was a man in his early thirties, wearing pinstriped pants and a dirty white shirt. A faded black hat sat on his head. He kept it covering his eyes as he was extremely nervous. "Hello, Mr. Peters."

"H-hello." The man muttered.

"Peters?" Nicholas repeated, going to the man and removing the hat from his head. "My old colleague?" Holmes glanced over at Mr. Peters, who was staring at the ground. He and Watson both kept a firm grip on their canes in case Nicholas would attack. He did not, but they did not relax. "What proof is he, Mr. Holmes?"  
"More than you know." Holmes replied, striding to Mr. Peters. "Go ahead, sir." It took Mr. Peters a few moments to become brave enough to step up and tell his story. Even when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He sighed, taking out a handkerchief and wiping it dry. Still, no words came out.

"Sir," Holmes said, "you needn't worry. If things get out of hand, Watson will be able to stop it."  
"Me?" Watson asked. "Why me?"

"Because…" Holmes smiled. "… You have the skills." Mr. Peters looked over at Watson, who nodded curtly.

"Alright…" He sighed, "I saw Nicholas outside of the market with Miss Morrison. He was talking with her, and then he handed her approximately one hundred pounds, maybe more. I, being an incredibly sneaky fellow, hid behind a wall to listen in."

"Eavesdropping is illegal!" Nicholas pointed out.

"Not in this case." Holmes interrupted. "Go on."

"He told her to tell officials he was out with her all night. When she questioned as to why, he whispered his plans, I believe. I did not catch that part."

"Please, this is no proof, Mr. Holmes!"

"Is it not?" He thanked Mr. Peters and let him go on his way. He then approached Nicholas and grabbed his hand. "Interesting."  
"What is it?" Lestrade approached as well, staring at his hands. He did not see anything out of the ordinary. "What?" Holmes was in thought for a few moments. Watson rose from his seat to see what it was.

"There are smudges on his hands." He finally said.

"Who cares?" Lestrade snapped.

"If you remember correctly, Lestrade, there were smudges on the ladder from when the murderer slipped." Watson eyes lit up as he remembered. "There was dirt on his hands, but as he slipped the dirt smudged. Hence, the smudges on his hand and on the ladder."

"You're right." Lestrade said. He apologized for his rude behavior.

"As for the shoes," Holmes said, kicking Nicholas's feet, "I found the same type of shoe in the closet." Nicholas let out a big laugh.

"Many men have the same type of shoe, Holmes!" He yelled. Holmes paid no attention, and continued to address Watson and Lestrade.

"The thing that intrigued me the most was the fact that there was only one shoe in the closet. The other was outside next to the ladder. And he also has splinters on his hand."

"When we found the knife in the street, it had a wooden handle and splints were sticking out." Watson explained.

"Exactly." Nicholas said nothing and he knew he was defeated. However, a few moments later, Miss Morrison came in, shaking from head to toe.

"You said I wouldn't get in trouble, Nick!" She yelled, her face stained with tears.

"Thank you for pointing out that you were an accomplice, Miss." Holmes said, smiling down at her. He helped her into a chair. "Now, tell me, what grudge did you bear against Mrs. Jones?"

"She was taking him away from me." Morrison admitted, tears falling down her face. "I love him and he loves me. She knew something was going on, and so she tried to keep him away from me. She deserved it."  
"And she's telling the truth!" Holmes grinned. "Take them away, officers." The officers nodded, taking the two away from the apartment. "Let's go, Watson." He nodded to his friend, who nodded back and followed him out.

"Interesting case." Watson said.

"Indeed. You better hurry home before Mrs. Watson gets angry." They walked together until they had to part ways. Holmes shook Watson's hand and headed to his house on Baker Street. He paid no attention to Mrs. Hudson, his housekeeper, and retired to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes woke up later than he usually did. It was around noon when he finally rose from his bed and headed downstairs, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Good morning, Wa…." He stopped midsentence, remembering Watson did not live with him anymore and instead, he was addressing Mrs. Hudson, who was putting a cup of tea on the table. She had a slight glare. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, is something wrong?"  
"You let the food get cold." She pointed to a plate of eggs and bacon sitting on the table.

"I apologize," He sighed. "I overslept for once today."  
"I can see that. Well, I heated everything up for you." She curtsied slightly and left upstairs.

"Don't go in my room!" He yelled after her. Soon after that, she came back downstairs and went to clean up the other rooms. "Thank you." He put a napkin in his shirt, grabbed a fork, and began eating his breakfast. He stared across the table, and sighed. He was so used to having Watson sitting across from him, reading a newspaper or casually sipping his tea. However, Watson was now married, and therefore, had to live with his wife. It was a tradition or something, Holmes believed. He didn't understand why Mary couldn't have just lived with them. He wouldn't mind. However, he was sure Watson would want his privacy and supposedly, Holmes didn't respect that.

"Ha." He laughed to himself. "I respected his privacy just fine." He looked down at his attire and realized he was wearing Watson's jacket. So, he really did steal his clothes. He began to laugh as he ate the eggs and bacon on the plate before him.

Watson was enjoying a peaceful afternoon with his wife, Mary. They were sipping tea and eating biscuits. She wore a light blue dress, with her hair up in an elegant bun. Watson was wearing his usual suit, with his cane sitting nearby just in case he needed it; he doubted he would.

"How do you think Holmes is doing?" He asked. He instantly regretted it.

"John, do you always have to prate about your friend?" Mary asked, slightly annoyed at his question. "He's doing fine, I expect. Now, I am your wife, so please…"

"I apologize, Mary, dear." He rose from his seat and gently kissed her on the lips. When they broke apart, she smiled slightly. He looked down at her ring. "There's no need to be hostile towards him, you know."  
"What do you mean?" She asked. She followed Watson's gaze to her ring finger.

"He did give you this wonderful ring after all." He wondered if Irene was angry at Holmes for giving him the diamond of her necklace. It was probably stolen, anyway. That, however, did not stop her from being angry, seeing how she was a femme fatale and loved stealing objects. Watson was sure she had some of his stuff and possibly, Holmes's too.

"I suppose," Mary sighed, staring down at the shining diamond on her finger. Maybe, she thought, Sherlock Holmes isn't all that bad. She smiled, looking up at her husband's face. "You have a beautiful smile, you know." Her cheeks turn a slight red at his words; he sure did know how to make a girl feel special.

"John, why don't we go out on the town?" She said, rising from her seat and grabbing his arm. He was silent. "…Unless you have plans."

"No." He finally said. "Let's go." He did have plans; he was going to visit Holmes today to see how he was getting along without him. It has only been a few weeks since Watson left their house to live with Mary. He didn't want to anger her; she was getting fed up with him not being home and not seeing her as often as he should. He got up with her and they both headed outside into town.

Watson and Mary had their arms locked as they walked down the street into town. Like everyday, it was full of people selling merchandise or buying it. He bought her a nice necklace. She didn't mind that it was cheap; it was still beautiful.

"I love it, John," She said, kissing him. "Thank you."  
"Anything for you, darling." He replied. They continued to walk until they accidentally bumped into someone. The bump was hard and pushed Mary off her feet. Since she was holding onto Watson, he fell with her. She squealed as she hit the ground. Watson received his fallen hat and looked up at who the person was, who was now holding his hand to help them up.

"Holmes?" Watson asked.

"Ah, Watson!" Holmes smiled, helping them both up. He looked over at Mary, who was in tears due to her dress getting dirty. "Oh, Mrs. Watson…" He flinched as he addressed as so. "…I apologize, deeply."

"Its…" She said, dusting her dress off. "…alright, Mr. Holmes."  
"Please, call me Sherlock." He took off his hat in a polite manner and bowed slightly.

"Call me Mary then."

"Thank you." Thank god, he thought, I couldn't bear call her 'Mrs. Watson' again. They were silent for a moment. "What brings you into town?"

"We just wanted a day alone." Mary said, grabbing Watson's arms. It was obvious she was trying to get rid of Holmes. He, however, did not take the hint.

"How sweet." He went on. "I'm just out. I wonder when we will get a new case, Watson."

"Yes. I hope it's going to be an interesting one." Watson replied. While they were talking, an old, crotchety woman approached them. She had matted hair, buck teeth, and wore raggedy clothes.

"May I tell your future, Mr.?" She asked Watson, reaching for his hand. Mary pulled him away. The woman's eyes turned to her. "How about you, Miss?"  
"No, thank you." Mary replied coldly.

"I beg of you, let me. I am but a poor woman in need of money." She reached out her dirty hands. Holmes glanced over at Mary to see what she would do next.

"Oh, alright. If that's okay with you, John." She asked, looking up at her husband. He nodded. Mary put a one pound coin in the woman's hand. She pocketed it and grabbed Mary's right hand to read her palm. Mary gasped at the coldness of the old woman. That's how it must be, living in the streets, she thought.

"Oh, dear," The woman gasped.

"What?"

"As the days progress, you will grow old quickly. Your face will be full of warts and your body will be bloated."

"John!" Mary squealed. Watson grabbed Holmes by the cuff and pulled him.

"Holmes, are you still trying to tear Mary and me apart?" He whispered.  
"Gracious, no." Watson was not convinced. "If I have paid that woman to tell lies about your wife to break you up, then I will never go on another case again."

"Oh, dear. You aren't responsible." Watson shooed the woman away and grabbed Mary. "Oh, John!" She began to cry and buried her face into his shoulder. He embraced her and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"Mary, nothing that woman said will come true. I will see to that."

"Oh, thank you." Watson looked over her shoulder at Holmes, who smiled. He smiled back and continued to pat Mary.  
"Well, maybe I should…..Oh, no." He trailed off.

"What's wrong, Holmes?"  
"It's her." He replied.

'"Her?"' Mary asked, breaking her embrace with Watson to face Holmes. "Who's her?"  
"Irene?" Watson asked. Holmes nodded. His throat was dry, so he could barely speak. Watson followed his gaze to a woman, walking casually around town, wearing a pink dress. Her brown hair was up in a bun much like Mary's. She didn't seem to notice them; instead, she just continued looking around the market.

"She's looking for something to steal," Holmes said, when he could speak again.

"How can you be so sure?" Holmes gave him an "are you serious" look.

"She's outwitted me…. Twice! I think I would know."  
"Riiiight."

"Indeed."

"We'll be on our way," Watson said, taking Mary's hand.

"Good day, Watson. If a case comes my way, I will be sure to inform you." Holmes said, as Watson began to walk.  
"Yes, be sure to do so. Goodbye."  
"Goodbye, Sherlock." Mary smiled her eyes still red due to the old woman's fortune, though she was feeling a lot better. Holmes watched as Watson and Mary walked down the street and into a small café for lunch. He turned to look at a small jewelry store and spotted Irene stooping over to inspect a case of diamond necklaces. She must've been looking for a new one since he gave the diamond on her old one to Mary for the engagement ring. The man behind the counter took out a stunning diamond necklace. She turned around and let him put the necklace on her. She smiled as he latched it into place. Holmes watched as the world behind him melted away, and the only people in existence at this moment were him and her. He never realized just how beautiful she really was. After a few moments, Irene handed back the necklace to the vendor, bowed and was on her way. Once she was out of sight, the world came back into view and Holmes could see everything once again. He smiled, adjusted his hat, and left the market.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: The case was inspired by a real case in which they look for Mary's missing father, they are directed to her father's friends, having found out he died by the brother of the friend, and they find her father's friend is dead, so they have to figure out who the murderer is. Yes, I'm trying to make this complex as I possibly can. And Yes, Irene will make an appearance very soon.

Holmes kept himself occupied the whole rest of the day by shooting the wall with his revolver. Mrs. Hudson was too scared to come up, and instead put a tray of food outside his door, knocked once, and ducked just in case he decided to shoot the door.

"Thank you." He said, as he brought the tray into his room. Tonight was meatloaf, served with mashed potatoes, and a whisky. He took a bite, and washed it down. "I wonder when Watson will come by." He thought to himself. "I can show him my progress on my revolver that makes no noise when you shoot it." He grabbed the revolver and shot the wall again. Mrs. Hudson's squeal could be heard from his bedroom. "It's not working." He sighed, and let his thoughts drift to Irene. He couldn't believe she didn't steal anything. Then again, she was sneaky and wouldn't steal something right under the vendor's nose. He was certain she hid some jewelry in her sleeves.

"That's the Irene I know."

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson shaky voice said. "Somebody is here to see you."  
"Who can that be?" Holmes asked himself. As he rose from his seat, he thought it could be Irene, but she would have snuck in through the window; she wouldn't bother knocking at the door. Was it Watson? No, Mrs. Hudson would tell him, unless she wanted to keep it as a surprise. He shrugged at the thought, and retreated downstairs. The person standing in the doorway was neither Irene nor Watson. It was a young woman, who seemed to be in her early twenties. She wore a green dress, and carried a parasol. Her blonde hair was let down to her shoulders. Her eyes were surrounded by light eye shadow, and her lips were a reddish color. Holmes noticed her eyeliner was running, as though she were crying. His theory was proven by her red, puffy eyes.

"May I help you, Miss?" He asked. She blushed as he addressed her.

"Mr. H-Holmes…." She said, bowing slightly. "My name is Melody Jackson."

"Well, Miss Jackson, what service may I help you with?"  
"I need you to find someone."

"Excellent. A case." He smiled. "I can't wait to tell Watson."

"Who?" The woman asked.

"No one." He beckoned her to sit down, and she did so. He sat across from her, with his hands intertwined. "Now, you may I find for you?"  
"My older brother disappeared some time ago," She explained. She was staring at her hands as she twiddled her fingers slightly.

"What is your brother's name?" He asked, writing on a notepad he had in front of him.

"Alex Jackson." Melody replied. "He is the age of seven and twenty."

"What is your age, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, five and twenty." She was confused as to why he asked, but she was afraid if she questioned him, he would not take on her case."

"When was the last time you've seen him?"

"A week ago. We went out to lunch together at the Royale." Ah, Holmes remembered, The Royale. That was when he first met Mary and he had to admit, they didn't have good first impressions on each other. It took him a while to get the smell of wine out of his hair. "Well, I came over to his apartment two days later, and he wasn't there. Every night I called, and he never answered."

"Most interesting."

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson called out. "There's another person here at the door for you. He's got a telegram addressed to Miss Jackson."

"Ah, let him in, Mrs. Hudson, let him in." She nodded, opening the door all the way, and letting a man in. He wore a badly worn out suit, and held a small letter in his hands. He squealed as he laid eyes on Melody, who was watching him with hopeful eyes.

"Miss Jackson, I've found you at last!" He scrambled over to her. He handed her the letter. "Mr. Holmes…." He bowed at both of them and was off. Mrs. Hudson shut the door behind him. Melody, with trembling fingers, opened the letter in her hands. She got a paper-cut as she did so.

"Ow." She winced. She put her finger to her lips and licked the blood. Holmes retrieved a bandage for her. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." She wrapped it around her finger before reading the letter. She read it aloud to him:

'"Dear Melody Jackson,

I think I may have the whereabouts of your older brother, Alex Jackson. An eyewitness said they saw him going into a hotel a last night with luggage. He was not accompanied by anyone. The hotel was the Grand Hotel. A bellhop told the eyewitness the room was 1501. You should get there as soon as possible.

~Harriet Radcliffe""

"Harriet Radcliffe?" She asked after she read the letter. "She's one of my close friends. I have to take her word for it! Please, Mr. Holmes, accompany me to the hotel to find my brother."

"The Grand Hotel?" He asked himself, sweat dripping down his forehead. That was the hotel where Irene spiked his drink, and handcuffed him to the bed naked. He was lucky officials came to the hotel or else he'd still be stuck there. Come to think of it, that was the exact room… Boy, that's going to bring back memories. Why was everything in his life crashing down on him? "Oh, I apologize, Miss Jackson." He rose from his seat, helped her out, and ordered a cab. He let her go in first, and then he followed in.

"Where to?" The cabdriver asked, looking at them from his rearview mirror. Holmes noticed he had bags under his eyes, as though he had no slept in a long while. Instead of asking him why he looked so tired, he told him Watson's address. Melody did not ask why he went there instead of the hotel, but she figured there must be a reason.

When they reached Watson's house, Holmes got out. "I will be right back." He told them as he raced to the front door. He knocked in his signature knock so Watson would know who it was. However, it was Mary who answered the door. "Hello, Mary."  
"Oh, Sherlock." She was somewhat annoyed that he came over.

"Is Watson here? I need to speak with him." He tried to look in the house, but she did not allow him to.

"Yes, he is. I am afraid you cannot speak with him; he is in the middle of dinner."

"Dinner, really?" He looked at his watch. "At this hour?" She glanced at a clock she had on the shelf.

"It's only seven." She replied.

"Mrs. Hudson served dinner at five."  
"Oh, well, that's not how we do it here." There was an awkward silence, as Holmes balanced himself on the balls of feet, and hummed slightly.

"Mary, I really need to speak with him." He finally said.

"Oh, alright." She huffed. "Come in." Holmes turned to the cab and held out a finger, telling them to wait one minute. He bowed as he went inside their house. It was the first time he's ever been inside. He looked around at all the pictures and knickknacks.

"Nice." He commented.  
"Thank you." She replied. "John, Sherlock Holmes is here to see you." Watson was sitting at the dinner table, eating what looked like chicken. He took a drink of tea and wiped his mouth with a napkin before rising from it and shaking Holmes' hand.

"Hello, Holmes." He said. "Is there something you need from me?"

"Yes." Holmes replied, sitting down in a recliner. Watson did the same. "Outside, there is a cab waiting for me."  
"You came to tell me that?"  
"No, no. A young woman, by the name of Melody Jackson, came to me today. She desired to find her missing her brother. She received a telegram from a friend telling her he was at the Grand Hotel. In case the information is false, she wants me to accompany to her to the hotel." Watson nodded, and gestured to have Holmes continue, "Well, you did tell me to come find you if a case came my way, and so, here I am!" He glanced over at Mary, afraid she was going to lash out at him for accepting another case. She kept herself tame, and sat with her legs crossed, watching politely.

"Oh, yes, I did tell you that." Watson said, nervously.  
"What's the matter?" Holmes asked. "Do you not want to come with me on this case? If you do not, I understand. After all, you are married."

"No, I will come with you."  
"Excellent!" Holmes jumped up with a smile. "Let us go then!" Mary watched in shock. Watson kneeled down to her and kissed her cheek.  
"I'm sorry, but you know I have to do this." He said.

"I know." She replied, grabbing his hand. She let go of it a few seconds later. He smiled at her and left the house with Holmes, who was in complete joy, ahead of him. They went into the cab together.  
"Who is this?" Melody asked, as Watson got in.

"This is Dr. John Watson." Holmes explained. "He is my colleague, and constantly helps on my cases."  
"Oh, that's great. I'll feel a lot more comfortable with two people. Uh…" She addressed the cabdriver. "The Grand Hotel, please." He nodded and sped off to the hotel. Holmes paid the driver and they went on to enter the hotel. Bellhops were rushing everywhere, holding onto luggage, and running up and down stairs. Melody followed him and Watson to the elevator. They went up to the floor where rooms 1500-1530 were. When they got out, they raced to the second room. Watson tried opening it, but it was locked. He knocked twice, but there was no reply.  
"Alex?" Melody called. "It's me, your sister, Melody!"

"Mr. Jackson?" Holmes called out, knocking as well. "Are you there?"  
"Perhaps this information was false, Mr. Holmes." She sighed, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Perhaps…. Wait…" Holmes sniffed the air around him. "Do you smell that, Watson?" Watson sniffed the air as well.

"Gunpowder." He concluded.  
"Exactly." He nodded at Watson. "On three?"  
"Yes."

"One, two, three…" Together, Watson and Holmes kicked against the door so hard, it fell to the ground. Inside, there was a shocking discovery. Melody let out a blood-curling scream. Her brother, Alex Jackson, lay next to the bed in a puddle of blood. The color already left his eyes, and it was too late for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Tears did not take long to emerge from Melody's green eyes. Her screams woken up everyone in the hotel. Holmes' first instinct when he walked into the room was to remember being chained up to the bed, where Alex's body was, but after laying eyes on him, he completed forgot; he would remember later. The manager frantically came running up, panting as he did so. He looked around to see what happened. Finally, he spotted the open door and entered his face red with anger.

"What is going on….?" He started to say, but caught sight of the body of Alex Jackson. Everything suddenly went silent. The only sound was the sniffles and sobs of Melody, who had her hands over her face in sorrow. Holmes approached the frightened manager, who was deciding whether or not he should call the cops or run out before they killed him too. "G-get away!"

"My dear sir, please don't be frantic." Holmes said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The man was shaking underneath his touch.

"You're going to murder me and that poor girl just like you murdered that man!" He pointed a shaky finger at Melody and then at her brother. "You're going to murder me in cold blood. And you…." He sighed. "…You're going to dump my body in the lake!"

"Holmes, does he actually think we murdered Mr. Jackson?" Watson asked, full of confusion.  
"I don't think! I know !" The manager screamed.

"I'll take that a "yes", Watson." Holmes replied. He read the manager's nametag. It read 'Jonathon Montgomery.' "Mr. Montgomery, no matter what you may think or what you may have seen, we did not murder this poor man."

"You're lying! You have to be lying!" Before Holmes could reply to this, Lestrade and another detective, one Watson or Holmes did not know, came in. They were called by the people in the next room and rushed to the scene.

"Ah, Holmes, you're here already?" Lestrade asked, taking off his hat and setting it on a table.

"Y-you know him?" Jonathon asked.

"Of course. This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective!"

"Detective?" He turned to Holmes and bowed. "I am so very sorry. I came in and saw the body, and I panicked…" Holmes put up a hand to stop him.

"No need, sir. I perfectly understand how you may think that." Watson knelt down to examine the body. Melody gasped and tried to run towards him, but Holmes grabbed her shoulders to keep her from going further. "He's a doctor, so I advise you let him." She nodded, and waited. After a few moments, Watson got up and turned to them. Melody watched him with eager eyes; she wanted to know everything that happened to her brother.

"The time of death was only a few hours ago. It is seven thirty now. So, I would estimate the time of death to be four or five. Did you see him this morning or anytime before three?"

"I did," A voice called out. A maid came into the room. A few bellhops entered with her. "He let me in this morning to make the bed. As I was going to other rooms, I saw him come out and go to lunch at the restaurant in the hotel. He returned to his room around three thirty, I suppose."

"The murder occurred three hours ago." Holmes muttered to himself. "The murderer could be long gone in that time."

"How do you suppose the murderer got into the room?"

"Let me check." Holmes searched around the body. On the ground was black powder in a small pile. Homes took some in his hands and smelled it. "Gunpowder." He looked at the body and found no wound of a gunshot. "He hasn't been shot."  
"What do you mean?" Watson asked. "We smelled gunpowder."  
"The murderer wanted us to think he was shot. There is gunpowder over here, but no wound caused by a gunshot." Watson sat next to him to find a wound.

"There!" He said, pointing to Alex's neck. It was not done by a gun, but by a knife. The murderer made it look like it was the size of a bullet. "There is no murder weapon over here." He looked at other parts of the body. "There are also some knife wounds over on his sides." He pointed to Alex's side; it was the source of the never-ending flow of blood on the ground. Melody kept her eyes closed; she couldn't bear seeing her brother in this state. "Look at this… a butterfly tattoo on the victim's hand."

"Hmm…." Holmes pondered for a moment, and strode to the window, and saw that it was open. It wasn't forced, which told them Alex probably already had it open, and the murderer simply climbed in. He looked outside, but there was no ladder or anything that could've helped someone get in. "…It might have been an inside job."

"Inside job?" The manager repeated, enraged. "Are you suggesting, Mr. Holmes, that one of us might have murdered this man?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I'm suggesting; that is why I suggested it."

"Mr. Holmes, we couldn't have done it!"

"And why is that? Have you all got an alibi?" Jonathon looked around nervously at his employees, who seemed just as nervous and confused as he did.

"I have an alibi." The maid who last saw Alex spoke up. Holmes nodded at her to explain her story and reason why she shouldn't be a suspect. "I was in room 1320 at the time of the murder."

"Can you back that story up?" Watson asked.

"Yes." She left the room, with Watson and Holmes following behind her. They went into the elevator and went two floors down to the 1300 rooms. Once they got out, they immediately went for the room the maid told them about. Holmes ran ahead of her and Watson and knocked at the door; no one answered. He jiggled the doorknob to find out it wasn't locked. They opened it, and find out exactly what they found out when they entered Alex's room. A couple lay dead in a puddle of blood, having suffered from the same wounds he did. Watson examined and concluded the death was during the time they were up in Alex's room, which ruled out the maid, the manager, and the bellhops.

"This is going to be a long night." Watson sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Another day, another case." Holmes replied, with a hint of glee in his voice; it seemed that Watson was going to be staying with him longer than he planned.


	5. Chapter 5

Holmes, Watson, and the maid all stood staring at the bodies. There was a butterfly tattoo on each of them, which proved that the same person murdered Alex as well as this young couple.

"Miss…" Holmes addressed the maid. "Go to every room in this hotel and report back here if there have been any more murders."

"Yes!" She ran out of the room. Holmes sat down on the bed, dug into his coat and took out a small bag of white powder. He put some of it on his finger and brought it to his nose. He sniffed it.

"Ah… Are you sure you don't care for any, Watson?" He asked, offering the bag to his friend.

"I'm sure. You know, I am a doctor."  
"Yes, I know."

"Maybe, you shouldn't…" Watson said, trying to take the bag away from Holmes's grasp. He kept it out of reach and put it back in his coat.

"I don't tell you how to live your life."

"Actually, you do."

"Example, please."  
"Example?" Watson repeated, with a slight chuckle. "You tried to convince me that marrying Mary would be the worst mistake of my life. Holmes laughed.

"Marrying Mary." He said, chuckling.

"You're not listening."

"Nope." Watson groaned, and sat on a lone chair in the corner; he wondered how Mary was doing without him there. The silence was broken by the opening of a door. The maid walked in; she didn't look very distressed or disturbed. "I take it, there hasn't been any more murders?"  
"That's right." Holmes sighed, and rose from his seat. He adjusted his tie and walked to the door; Watson immediately followed.

"Thank you, Miss." He said before they left the room. They went back to room 1501 and saw that Melody was the only one still in there; the manager was comforting other guests and was having them transferred to another hotel until the case was solved.

"Miss Jackson," Holmes said, tearing her out of her faze, "we had no luck in finding the murderer here. Watson and I are going to search around town for some more clues." Watson raised his eyebrows at his friend's decision. "For a little bit…" He added. "You will be with darling Mary in a few hours, Watson."

"That's all I ask."

"May I please go with you, Mr. Holmes?" Melody asked holding her hands and staring up at him with hopeful eyes.

"I would prefer you staying safe for the time being." He replied.

"Mr. Holmes, I beg of you." She said, tears forming in her already puffy eyes. "I can't be safe knowing my brother's murderer is out somewhere. I won't be safe if I'm not with you or Mr. Watson!" Holmes looked over at Watson, who showed no emotion in the whole ordeal, which told him he didn't care whether she came or not.

"Alright."

"Thank you so much! I was told the bodies were to be moved soon. And, I found this in my brother's jacket." She handed him a room key. He took it.

"That's good. Now, we must go!" Holmes, Watson, and Melody left the now vacant hotel, and found outside that every guest and every employee were calling for cabs and scrambling to get to another hotel without being captured by the murderer. As they tried squeeze past the large crowd, someone caught Holmes's eye. Her pink dress set her apart from everyone else. By the look of that smirk on her face, she had just stolen something.

"I don't need this right now." He sighed to himself. Before he can sneak away from her, she spotted and approached him. "Hello, Irene."

"Hello, Sherlock. On another case, I suppose?" She laughed. "I heard about what happened."

"Uh-huh."

"Do you mind if I tag along?"

"Uh…." She smiled at him; how could he say no to that face? "Alright, you can come."

"Yay!" As they were walking, she slipped something out her sleeve and held it in her palm. She put it in front of his face. "Do you like it?"  
"Yes, it's very nice. Where did you steal it from?"  
"Oh, dear Sherlock, must you always think the worst of me?"  
"Yes."

"You're so cute." She chuckled, kissing his cheek. "But, I got it from a cute little shop in Japan!"  
"Really? Did you steal anything else?" He smiled.

"Just this beautiful silk kimono."

"Silk, you say?" Watson hit him upside the head. "Watson, what on earth was that for?"  
"Stay focused, Holmes. We need to find out who the murderer is."

"Alright, alright." He sighed, taking out cocaine from his pocket and sniffing it. "What we know is that the murderer's trademark is a butterfly."

"A butterfly?" Melody asked.

"Yes. The victims all had a butterfly tattoo on their hand." Watson told her. "So, all we need to do is find someone with a butterfly tattoo somewhere on their body."  
"Right, you are, Watson." Holmes said, patting him on the back. "Now, off we go!" As they were about to leave the premises of the hotel, something again caught Holmes's eye. He went off course and stepped into a dark alley, which can be seen through the windows of the hotel. He looked up and saw that one of the windows was open and it was indeed the room where they first found Alex. On the ground was rope. He picked it up.  
"Holmes, what is it?" Watson asked, racing over to him. The girls waited on the sidewalk for them.

"Rope, Watson. What does that tell us?"  
"That the murderer climbed up to the room using this rope. I will be right back." He ran to the other side of the hotel and returned a few moments later. "There was no rope outside of the room where the couple was murdered."  
"Which means the murderer went through the hotel instead of climbing into the other room. But, how did he do that? The room was locked from the inside. And the room key was found on Mr. Jackson's person. This is one of the questions we need to keep asking ourselves, Watson."  
"Yes." They left the rope where it was and headed back to the girls. "Don't worry, Mary. I'll make sure this case is finished with soon, so we can be together."


	6. Chapter 6

The breeze was cool as the gang walked around the streets on London, turning their heads here and there in case a clue might be close by. So far, their efforts were useless.

"This is crazy, Holmes." Watson growled, holding his jacket close to his body. "It's freezing out here." Holmes, with his pipe in his mouth, walked ahead of them. The smoke emerged from it and evaporated in the air. Irene was busying herself with her stolen diamond necklace. She was having difficulty putting on, so Holmes, still sucking on his pipe, came over and latched on for her.

"Thank you."

"Uh-huh."

"Holmes, I never did thank you, did I?"

"For what?"  
"Well, you did save my life, but you also left me with the key to my release. So, thank you for that. Otherwise, I'd be in jail right now."  
"I doubt it." He replied, staring up into the starry sky. "You would've escaped that very night."  
"Well, you're right about that. But…" She stepped in front of him to halt him from going any further. He tried to move, but she moved with him. She grabbed his hands and moved closer to him. Watson and Melody watched in shock. "Thank you anyway." She kissed him gently, let go off his hands, and proceeding with walking. Watson laughed slightly and shook his head.

"I'm glad I didn't pass out this time." Holmes said.

"Pass out, Holmes?"  
"Oh, didn't I ever tell you?" He had a smile on his face as he recalled the memory. This can't be good, Watson thought to himself, if he's smiling like that. "One day I visited Irene at the Grand Hotel, the very room where we found Mr. Jackson."  
"Really?"  
"Yes. She asked me to open her wine. I did so, and poured glasses for myself and her. She did not drink hers, because it was poisoned." He shot a glance at her, and she looked away innocently, but with a giggle nonetheless, which made her cuter than she already was. "She was being flirty, and kissed me. Then, I passed out due to the poison. When I woke up, she had stripped me down and handcuffed me to the bed."  
"What?!" Watson yelled, laughing. "Did she, really?" He approached Irene and patted her shoulder. "Kudos to you, Miss."  
"Why, thank you, Mr. Watson!" She said, ignoring Holmes glares at the two of them.  
"How did you escape, Holmes?" Watson asked, trying to stifle his laughs.

"Lestrade and his officials stumbled upon me. And I'm lucky they did." He explained.

"That is just hilarious, Holmes." Watson wiped his eyes, as they were getting watery as he laughed harder. He stopped laughing when he looked at Melody, who was looking at the ground in complete silence. "Is something wrong, Miss Jackson?" She said nothing and looked down at her feet. The breeze made her shiver slightly. What was wrong with her? She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and turned to face them.

"I have a confession to make." She said. Holmes did not let her continue; instead, he jumped up and down with a look of extreme joy.

"You're the murderer!" He laughed.

"No!" Melody yelled. "Why would I kill my brother?"  
"He was favored over you. Your parents treated him with much respect, showering him with love, affection, and not to mention, gifts."

"That's not it at all, Mr. Holmes. A family friend of ours, Victor Felton, has a butterfly tattoo on his left hand."  
"What?" Watson and Holmes said at the same time.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Holmes asked.

"I…" She began to cry. Irene put a comforting arm around her.

"He's a family friend, Holmes. She probably was scared that he would get in trouble! Can't we investigate further before we turn him into the police?"  
"No." That was quick. Irene gasped. She fluttered her eyebrows and parted her red lips. She removed her arm from Melody and looked up into Holmes's eyes. He seemed to buckling down by her stare alone. She fluttered them once more. With a single sweat drop, he sighed, meaning he gave in to her. "Where does this Felton fellow live?" He asked Melody.

"I'll lead the way." Irene had a triumphant smile as they followed Melody. She led them into a bad part of London. They went to a raggedy house that needing painting and new windows, as all of them were broken. On the front yard, there was many means of debris, from trash to clothes to furniture. Before heading to the front door, Holmes decided to check out the merchandise. He examined an old sofa which was stained badly. He didn't know what it was, but he suspected coffee and spaghetti sauce. The clothes had holes in them due to moths. He looked at the stuff for a few moments, until Watson, growing impatient, pulled him by the cuff and led him to the door.

"This is pretty far from the hotel." Watson commented. "If he is the murderer, how could he get here so fast?"  
"Elementary, my dear Watson." Holmes said as if it were obvious. "He simply could have driven from the hotel."  
"But, there wasn't a car…"  
"That's what he wanted us to think. He parked where all the guests park, I suppose. He would simply blend in."

"I suppose that makes sense." Without another word, Melody knocked on the almost broken door. A man answered it. Just like his house, he was raggedy. His suit was faded and he desperately needed a shave.

"Who is that, Victor?" A woman yelled with a cockney accent.

"It's just Melody, Laura!" He yelled back with a similar accent. He turned to them. "Who are these people?"  
"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Miss Irene Adler." Melody introduced them. As each one was introduced, Victor shook their hands.

"We need to question you." Holmes said right off the bat. "Alex Jackson was murdered tonight, as well as a young couple in the Grand Hotel."  
"What do you need me for?"  
"Well, on the bodies, there was a butterfly tattoo. As I can see, you have a tattoo. Of a butterfly! Oh, what a coincidence!"  
"It is coincidence, only, Mr. Holmes." Victor growled.  
"Do you have an alibi?" Watson asked.

"Tonight, I was with my wife, Laura. Laura, get over here!"  
"Shut up!" Laura yelled.

"Come here!"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" There was a grunt, a squeak from a chair, and footsteps. A raggedy woman with waist length dirty blonde hair approached them. "What?"  
"What did we do tonight?"  
"You know what we did tonight, idiot!"

"Tell them! He's a detective."

"Fine. We were here all night, Mr. Detective. No lies. If you want to confirm it, ask Mr. Manner. He lives next door. Mr. Manner, come out here!" A good-looking man, who Holmes at first sight would not believe lived in the bad part of London, came out. He looked confused as everyone's eyes were on him.

"Yes?" He asked nervously.

"Were or were we not in the house all night?" Laura asked, with her hands on her hips.

"You were here all night." He said. "I came over around four to pick up some sugar. And you were here all after that." Laura and Victor turned to Holmes and the others. They were smiling.

"You see?"

"Let me see your tattoo, sir." Holmes said, holding out his hand. Victor did not give him his. He sighed, grabbing him by the arm and staring at the tattoo closely. He groaned and let go off his arm. It swung freely for a second or two. "He didn't do it."  
"How can you be so sure?" Watson asked, trying to get a look, but Victor did not allow him to; he kept his hand out of sight behind his back.

"The tattoos were identical on the bodies, but his is differently shaped and detailed. As he said, it is merely coincidence. I apologize, sir."

"It's alright, Mr. Holmes." Holmes nodded at everyone and they left the property. It was nearing midnight when they got back to the hotel, where their own cab was waiting. Irene went a separate way. She kissed Holmes on the cheek before departing. The cab dropped off Watson at his house.

"I will see you tomorrow, Watson." Holmes said, tipping his hat.

"Sure thing." Watson nodded, opening the door and entering. Once it was shut, the cab took off again. Melody was dropped off at her hotel, Paradise, and last, but not least, Holmes was dropped off. Mrs. Hudson retired for the evening, but Holmes could not sleep; he stayed up, trying to figure this case out.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to newworldwriter1 for informing me that there was mixup of words during Irene's departure. My computer was acting up and every time I typed something it ended  
up in a different place than where i planned. So thank you so much. I reuploaded this chapter!

The next morning was hectic. Holmes was in the kitchen at five shoving his breakfast down his throat as fast as he could. He didn't get any sleep, so he was feeling tired, but it wasn't anything a little bit of coffee and cocaine couldn't cure. He had thoughts of the case in his head, and he believed he was getting on track and was on his way to solving the mystery. At seven, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. When Mrs. Hudson came downstairs to make his breakfast, he told her he already ate and left the house. Holmes didn't bother getting a cab, and instead walked all the way to Watson's house. He was so eager to find out who the murderer was he didn't care if he got blisters on his feet from walking too much. He knocked on the door, and adjusted his tie. Watson, to Holmes's relief, answered the door. He was dressed and ready to go as well.

"Good morning, old chap." Holmes said once the door was wide open.

"Good morning." Watson replied.

"Did you finish your breakfast? I know Mary usually serves two hours after Mrs. Hudson does and she serves at seven. I tell you, Watson, I can't wait two hours."

"Calm down, Holmes. I finished my breakfast. I could hardly sleep, so I made my own when I woke up at five."

"Excellent!" He peeked into the house. "Why don't you tell Mary we'll be going soon?"  
"Sure." Watson disappeared into the house. Holmes could him talking to his wife, "Mary, I have to go now."

And he heard her yelling, "John, you can't leave!"

"Darling, Holmes and I really need to solve this case. I don't want any more people dying on my watch."

"Oh…. Fine, go."

"Good-bye." Watson came back to the door. Holmes could hear Mary sniffling.

"Perhaps you should check on her?" Holmes suggested as the sniffling grew louder.

"No. She'll be alright." Watson hesitated before shutting the door and following Holmes out into the front yard. A young man came to the house, holding a letter. It was not the same man who delivered the letter to Melody concerning her brother. He handed the letter to Watson, and was pleased to find he was given a 5 pound bill as a reward. He bowed and was on his way. Watson looked at the letter, and saw that it was addressed to Holmes. Handing it to him, he asked, "Why did he bring it here?"  
"Mrs. Hudson must have told him I was here," Holmes replied, taking the letter from Watson's hands. He opened it, ripping the top off. His eyes scanned the letter, and then they widened, and scanned the letter once more. "I was afraid of this."  
"What is it?"

"More deaths."  
"With butterfly tattoos?"  
"I'm afraid so. We must pick up Miss Jackson and find Irene."

"Yes."

Holmes and Watson needed to get to the scene quickly, so they were forced to catch a cab. It took them a while to find Irene, who was searching the market once more for something to steal. Once she saw them, she dropped her plans and accompanied the two. The murder took place at a small house. An amount of five people were killed in the same manner as the others. The butterflies were branded on their hands. Two women and three men were the unlucky victims. Irene bent down to the bodies.

"Irene," Holmes warned. "You're not stealing anything from them."  
"Well, you caught me, Holmes." She said, getting up and wiping one hand against the other.

"Time of death," Watson concluded, "was around an hour ago."  
"I don't understand," Melody cried. "What do all these people have in common with my brother?"  
"I don't know, Miss Jackson." Holmes replied. "But, it could be he thirsts for blood, or he holds a grudge against these people and your brother."  
"He's never done anything bad in his life!"

"I can't really answer this. I don't know the motive." She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. A tiny light bulb went off in his head. He went to a small drawing desk, grabbing a pencil and a piece of paper. He examined the tattoo and drew an exact replica of it on the paper.

"What are you doing, Holmes?" Watson asked. Holmes shoved the paper toward with no words. Watson scanned the drawing. "This will help us find the murderer."  
"Yes. If we show this to citizens, they may recognize it and lead us to the culprit."  
"Holmes, you're a genius!"  
"I know." He smiled, opening the door and leading the way out. He glared at Irene, who again was bending over the bodies. She smiled dropping whatever she was taking from them and followed him, Watson, and Melody outside.

"Holmes, I should get going." She said, fixing her hair. "Call me when you get a lead." She rubbed his cheek, which made him shudder underneath her touch, and then walked down the street until she was out of sight. He touched his cheek and sighed.

"You love her." Watson whispered in his ear, making him jump slightly.

"Shut up, Watson." He replied.

They entered a local tattoo parlor located at the end of the market street. The man behind the counter had a shaved head and was heavily tattooed. A man in the back of the shop was reading a magazine.

"Hello." Holmes said politely to the man.  
"What do you want?" He replied, rudely. He set the paper on the counter. The man picked it up and eyed it. "What's this for?"

"It's a design."  
"You want this on your arm or something?"  
"Oh, certainly not!" Holmes cried, pulling his arm out of reach from the man. "I just want to know if you gave this design to anyone. And I mean this exact design. It has to be a replica!" The man looked at it more closely.

"Yeah, I did."  
"Really?" Watson spoke up, running to the counter. "Who?"

"Quite a few people, really." The man reading the magazine got up and headed toward the restrooms.

"Give us a name, sir." Holmes said, leaning against the counter.

"Madison Cutler, I recall. And a man named Leonard Yates."

"Is that all?"  
"All I can remember, sir." Holmes sighed, taking the design and stuffing it into his coat pocket.

"Do you have the addresses of this people?"  
"I do." He scribbled something on another piece of paper and handed it to Holmes, who nodded and led the way back outside to the market place. He looked at the paper and was on his way once more. Melody and Watson had to walk fast to keep up with him. By the time they reached their destination, they were panting slightly. Holmes paid no attention to them as he rapped swiftly on the door. A young woman possibly younger than Melody answered the door. Her red hair hung over her shoulders.

"May I help you?" She asked. Watson could tell she was resisting the urge to slam the door in their faces.

"We are looking for a Miss Madison Cutler." Holmes announced, taking a step forward. He was ready if she tried to shut the door.

"I am Madison Cutler. What do you want with me?"

"Do you have a tattoo?"  
"What?"

"Pull up your sleeve, please, my dear." She was shaking as she pulled her right sleeve up and on her arm was a butterfly tattoo, just as the man said. It was nearly identical to the design on the paper, but it wasn't completely. Holmes compared them, groaned, and stuffed the paper in his coat once again. "She's not the murderer."

"Murderer? Why would I be a murderer?" Madison yelled. Her eyes moved from Holmes to Watson, and back to Holmes again.

"We have examined a total of eight murders in the last two days. Each of the victims, had a butterfly tattoo branded on their hands."  
"The butterfly is the trademark, so we need to find someone with that identical tattoo on their body." Watson took over the explanation. "You have a similar tattoo, but it is not the same."  
"Oh…." She gasped and cried into her hands.

"Thank you for your time, Miss." Holmes said. Before she could say anything else, the trio was already walking away and out of sight. The next house was not any better. The tattoo Leonard had was located on his shoulder. Like Madison, it was similar, but not an exact replica. They were getting nowhere in this case, and were constantly going in circles.


	8. Chapter 8

Holmes sat at Watson's drawing desk at his house. Melody sat in a recliner a few feet away, pondering on everything that happened. Watson was in deep conversation with his wife, who was disapproving of Holmes and Melody staying at their house.

"Why do they have to stay here, John? I barely see you enough as it is." She said, crossing her arms.

"Mary, darling, it's only for a little while. The murderer may be a crazy serial killer with no reason to kill. And he can come after you." She gasped at his words. He immediately pulled her into an embrace. "Don't be scared, alright? Holmes and I are going to do everything in our power to stop this person." She nodded in his shirt.

"I understand, John." He let her go and she went back to her knitting. He wanted to spend more time with her, but there was work to be done. He left to the drawing room, where Holmes was looking over the paper with the design on it.

"No luck?" He asked as he stepped into the room.

"No." Holmes replied. "In all honesty, Watson, I have no clue what I am doing right now. This guy is really playing with my head."  
"You're not the only one." Watson pointed to Melody, who was deep in thought, and did not even notice him walk into the room. "She desperately wants to know why someone would kill her brother."  
"Yes. And I want to figure out this case. That way, there won't be anymore murders, and…" He sighed before continuing his sentence. "…That way you and Mary will be happy."  
"Holmes, I am happy. I'm happy solving cases like the old days."  
"But, she's not." He nodded toward Mary, who was angry as she knitted a distorted scarf. She threw it to the ground when she finished and sobbed into her hands. "I don't want to be rude, but she's pretty annoying."

"Holmes!" Watson yelled.

"What?"

"That's my wife!"  
"And?"  
"You can't insult my wife!" Melody was pushed out of her daze and brought her attention to the feuding friends.

"It's just if I was married, my wife wouldn't be all angry at me for going on cases." Holmes replied back, calmly. He did not want to start any trouble, so he was trying to keep his voice calm.

"Well, of course your wife wouldn't be angry, Holmes! Irene will accompany us on our cases as she always does!" This caused a red blush to form on Holmes's face.

"A-are you implying I will be married to Irene Adler?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but it ended up breaking.

"I know it's what you want."  
"Watson, I don't need this!" He turned his attention back to the drawing desk and busied himself with the paper in front of him. Who does Watson think he is? he thought. I would never think such impure thoughts about Irene. Marriage isn't impure, but it is if you're talking about being married to Irene Adler. Watson stood there for a few minutes, before sitting down on a recliner a few feet from Melody.

"Mr. Holmes…" She said to him. "He likes that girl we were with?"  
"Like?" Watson scoffed. "More like love."  
"H-he loves her?"  
"I heard that, Watson!" Holmes shouted. "Stop filling her head with such nonsense; we need to get to the bottom of the crime!" Watson laughed at Holmes's insecurity and desire to prove everybody wrong.

"Sure, Holmes." He nodded. "Listen, why don't we just relax for a bit?"  
"A-alright."

"I would love that." Melody spoke up. "All this talk about the case is getting me depressed."

"You mind if I invite someone?" Holmes asked.

"Irene?"  
"No!" There was silence for a few seconds. "Yes…" Watson chuckled underneath his breath.

"Go ahead." Holmes grabbed a telephone that was sitting on the drawing desk. He paused. "You don't know her number, do you?"  
"I'm afraid not." Melody came and grabbed the phone from his hands; she punched in a number before handing back to him.

"She gave me her number when we were chatting, in case of another murder."  
"Ah, thank you, Miss Jackson." Holmes brought one part of the phone to his ear, and the other to his lips.

"Hello?" A gentle voice said on the other line. She had such a sweet voice, he thought.

"Irene?"

"Yes?"  
"It's Sherlock Holmes." He cleared his throat.

"Oh, what's the matter? Another murder?" He heard her scrambling and figured she was getting dress to meet them at another murder site.

"No, no!" He said quickly. "Watson is having a dinner at his house, and we were wondering if you would like to join us. At seven." There was an awkward silence, and he knew that mean "no."  
"Sure, I guess." She said after a few moments, to his surprise. "I'll see you later, I suppose."

"Yes." He said, before hanging up the phone. Watson noticed he had a slight smile on his face. He went into the other room to inform Mary of their plans. She didn't complain. Although, she would prefer to be alone with him, but at least he was home, and that was good enough for her.

"Mary is making roast beef." He informed Holmes and Melody.

"Sounds good." Holmes replied, twiddling with his fingers as he once again overlooked the drawing. "I'm sorry, Watson, for speaking badly about Mary."  
"Don't worry about it. I understand." Holmes yawned loudly due to the fact he hadn't slept the night before. Melody was snoozing on the recliner; she didn't sleep much either, since her mind was so troubled over everything. "Holmes, why don't you go on into the guestroom and rest?"  
"I think I will." He sighed, rising from his seat and stretched. He nodded at Watson before heading off into the guestroom. The room was pink, and the bed had flowered covers. He shrugged as he lay down and drifted to sleep.

He was awakened by someone gently pushing his arm. His eyes fluttered for a second before waking up completely. Watson was standing over him.

"Come on. Dinner's ready." He said. Holmes yawned, rubbed his eyes, and followed him to the kitchen, where Melody and Mary were setting the table. He looked around.

"Irene's not here, is she?" Holmes asked. Watson shook his head. "Oh, well, she's probably just running late."

"Why don't we eat?" Mary asked, pointing to the food on the table in front of her.

"Thank you, Mary, but I'll wait for Irene to arrive." He sat away from table as everyone sat down and began piling their plates with food. Irene would be here; he knew it. She was running late, that's all. Watson glanced over at Holmes and immediately felt sorry for him. His attention was toward the window, hoping to see Irene walking up the driveway in her stunning pink dress, and her usual smirk upon her lips.

"Have you had any luck, with the case?" Mary asked, breaking the awkward silence around them.

"Ah, no." Watson replied, taking a drink of wine. "But, I'm sure we'll figure out soon."

"I hope so." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't want any more murders! It's bad enough innocent people are being killed." What she was saying was true, but her reason for hopefulness was so she could see Watson more and more. An hour went by, and they were all finished with their dinner. Holmes had not eaten.

"Where is that girl?" He asked, looking at his watch. "It's eight!"

"I don't think she's coming, Holmes." Watson told him. He sighed. "Eat some dinner."  
"Alright." Holmes went to the table and picked up a spoon. Feeling bored and a little down, he breathed on it and put it on his nose. It stayed there for a second, before falling back to the table with a small clash. He picked up his fork and knife and began eating. After dinner, he went back to the drawing room and overlooked the drawing.

"She better have a good reason for not coming." He said to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: I am very sorry to tell all my reviewers and fans of this fanfiction, that I will be writing one more chapter to sum it all up. I am glad this fanfic was popular, and thank you for all the support. Who knows, I might write a sequel?

Holmes fell asleep, with his head on the desk. He had a pencil in his hand as well. Watson was up fairly early and caught sight of the sleeping detective. He managed to take the drawing from under him. He flipped it over to the back and saw what Holmes had been writing. It wrote Irene's name with a small heart around it.

"You can't hide anything from me, Holmes." He laughed, pocketing the paper, and heading toward the table. He was joined moments later, by Mary, who was wearing a white night down which came down to her feet. Her hair was out of its usual bun and hanging past her shoulders.

"Good morning, John." She said, kissing him lightly.

"Morning, darling." He replied. He took out the paper and showed it to her.

"A butterfly?"  
"No, turn it over." She did so and gasped. "See? I don't get why he's denying his feelings." Mary said nothing, and kept her eyes on the paper. He wrote her name so beautifully and made a curve with every letter. Was he even aware he was doing this, or was he half asleep, thinking of her?  
"Why haven't you ever done this from me?" She finally said.

"Because I've never denied my feelings for you, and that's beside the point." He laughed.

"At any rate, we need Sherlock to realize his feelings for Irene."  
"And hopefully, by the end of this case, he will admit it." She kissed him again, and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. She took out eggs and bread, while the coffee was getting ready. Watson waited at the table. When it was finished, she set it on the table in front of him and joined him as well. She smiled, sipping her coffee.

"It all looks delicious, Mary." He said, taking his cup in his own hands.

"Thank you." Mary replied. The smell of eggs reached Holmes's in the drawing room and forced him awake. He yawned, and headed toward the kitchen, unaware that the drawing was not on the desk with him, where he last left it. "Oh, good morning, Sherlock."  
"Good morning." He replied, sitting down next to Watson and grabbing a cup of coffee. He drank it the whole thing without stopping and took a plate of eggs. During his breakfast, the paper caught his eye on the counter, where Mary set it down while she made breakfast. He stopped eating, got up without a word to them, and picked it up. "Watson," He said in a calm tone. "Where did you get this?"  
"Holmes, I saw it while you were asleep."  
"I…." He tried to speak, but he stopped short. His face was reddening with embarrassment. No matter what he wrote, he was going to deny it until they believed him. He ate the rest of his food and stormed off to the bathroom to shower and freshen up. During his shower, Melody woke up, having slept in guest room, because Holmes fell asleep on the desk. She went to the kitchen and sat with them at the table.

"Hello." She said. She was already dressed and her hair was done up nicely.

"Hello." Mary replied, handing her a plate of food. She thanked her and began eating. When she was done, she took all the plate and washed them despite Mary's constant objections; she did not like having a guest doing her work for her. After his shower, Holmes lay on the guest bed, and stared at the ceiling. Something must have happened last night; that's why she couldn't come. Why was he even getting so worked up about this? Why should he care she didn't show up? He didn't care, so there was no need to think about it any longer. If it were that easy….

Holmes spent the rest of the day being incredibly distant from everyone in the house. He was going through his depressed mode, which came every so often and completely engulfed him in darkness. He would lie on the bed, and just stare at the ceiling for hours at a time. If anyone addressed him, he wouldn't respond. Sometimes, he responded with a small grunt, but nothing more than that. Everyone's so used to him being so vibrant and hyper, but Watson knew this time came, and he was prepared for it. Mary and Melody, however, were worried about his strange behavior.

"Is he okay, John?" Mary asked, looking into the room, where he had a zombie-like look to him.

"Don't worry. It happens every so often. It will pass."

"I hope so." Melody commented.

As the sun set, Sherlock Holmes was still in the bedroom, but this time holding a revolver in his hands. He was not going to shoot anything; it wasn't his house. Well, he would, but didn't want to get into an argument with Mary about shooting the ceiling. He felt useless as he accomplished nothing and didn't get any closer to solving the case; for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could never solve a case, and that he was a failure.

"Holmes," Watson said, at a quarter to seven, "there's someone here for you."  
"Tell them to go away." He replied.

"It looks rather important." He groaned, got up, and greeted the man at the door with a telegram. He handed him the letter, bowed, and was on his way. Another murder, he assumed, as he opened the letter up. "Another murder?"  
"No. Just some small case they want me to solve. Let's go, Watson, maybe we'll run into something important." Watson nodded and told Mary goodbye for the time being. In case something would happen, Melody tagged along. Mary watched with tearful eyes, as he took off once again.

Watson noticed Holmes was extremely bored with the cases he was assigned with. He thought they would be something to amuse him and take his mind of the real case, but that didn't happen.

"The murderer is that man right there." He said, pointing to a man sitting on the floor.

"How is it me?" He gasped.

"Simple. When I arrived, you tried to leave as quickly as you could, explaining you left the oven on at home. You wouldn't answer questions concerning the victim, but then it hit me. Your friend, here, Miss Marrino, told us she was his fiancée. I watched you, and saw the jealousy and love light up in your eyes. You killed him because you love her. Case closed. Let's go, Watson." The cases went by so quickly, and his boredom stayed at the same level. It may have risen a little bit, to tell the truth. He solved the case concerning who killed a girl's cat and why they did it. He solved the case of who poisoned his sister's oatmeal one morning. He loved solving cases, but they meant nothing unless he could solve that one huge one which he was obsessed with at the moment. And the fact that Irene Adler did not show for dinner, did not make his life any easier. After solving a total of six dull cases, Holmes, Watson, and Melody walked through the streets in order to get back to Watson's house. Holmes sighed; he hoped to find something else to help him solve the case of the butterfly killer, but he found nothing. While walking, he stopped short.

"Something wrong?" Watson asked, but he spotted what he saw as well. Irene Adler was standing in the street, looking down at the ground beneath her, wearing a blue silk dress. Her brown hair hung down. Holmes started marching up to her. Watson grabbed him by the arm. "Holmes! What on earth are you doing?"  
"I'm going to give that girl a piece of my mind." He replied, trying to shake his hand off.

"Just calm down…" Before Holmes could get free and charge after her, Irene was already walking toward them. "Hello, Miss Adler."  
"Hello, Mr. Watson. Melody. Sherlock." Holmes avoided her gaze. "I need to talk with you."  
"No."

"Sherlock! Come, please!"  
"Make me." He was acting so immature. Irene took that as a challenge, and grabbed him by the cuff. She dragged him, causing Watson to lose his grip on his arm. "What do you want, Irene?"  
"To talk, of course."  
"About why you didn't show up?"  
"Sherlock, I truly wanted to come, but…." She looked away, blushing slightly. "Maybe this will make up for it: I appreciate everything you've done for me. I was afraid I was going to die during that last duel with Blackwood."  
"Well, don't make the mistake of thinking I care for you." He said, with a slight smirk.

"Don't worry; I won't." She smirked back, knowing full well it was lie. A few seconds later, police officers were running up the street.  
"What's going on?" Holmes asked the one nearest to him. He was panting slightly.

"A burglary at the jewelry store." He pointed to a store at the end of the road. Many officers were already there. "I must go." He ran to join the rest of them. Holmes shot a glare at Irene, who looked utterly confused.

"Is that why you missed dinner? You were planning a burglary?" He asked in shock.

"NO!"  
"Watson, let's go check this out. Some fun might come out of it."


	10. Chapter 10

They followed the group of curious tourists and police officers. As they were walking, someone pulled Holmes back.

"What?" He turned to see Watson, who once again had a grasp on his arm, and was attempting to pull him back. "Watson, cut it out."  
"Maybe, we should go back to the hotel; this doesn't concern us." He replied.

"Why would we go to the hotel?"  
"There might be further clues." Holmes turned to face him, causing him to let go of his arm to face him as well.

"We searched that hotel. There is nothing there!"  
"If we went back, there might be something we missed!" Watson yelled.

"That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard."  
"You two are like a married couple." Irene sighed, half-laughing.

"What?" Watson asked in surprise. "Are you saying we're homosexual?" Irene giggled, shook her head, and continued walking. Holmes caught up with her, and took hold of her arm, ever so gently, she noticed with a slight blush.

"My dear lady, I'm not saying I am homosexual. If I was I could do better than Watson, but as you do give us your blessing." He grabbed Watson's hands and kissed it slightly, causing a shock in his colleague's eyes. Irene blazed with fury at his actions.

"Can we just get back to work?!" She yelled, storming off into the direction of the crime; she stomped her feet with every step. Melody followed her.

"Jealousy." Holmes smiled. "That's a good sign."  
"It is indeed." Watson said, wondering if he should tell Mary of the incident which just happened. "And what do you mean you could do better than me?"  
"Now, now, Watson, let us not argue about something so trivial." He sighed. Watson groaned, and forgot the subject. They followed Irene to the scene. She had her arms crossed, still angry over what happened. Cops surrounded the area, each with guns equipped. The store owners were in tears, holding each other as officials entered the store, looking for the culprit. There was nothing over here; Holmes knew that for certain. However, he had been so bored the last few days that this sort of case was bound to bring some fun into his life. Besides, burglaries reminded him of Irene. Her stolen necklace shined in the moonlight as he thought of her.

"What happened?" Holmes asked the male store owner, who jumped when addressed.

"We were minding our own business. Doing inventory in the back." He explained.

"Then, the alarm went off. We couldn't see his face; it was covered by a ski mask. He had a gun and took off with one million dollars worth of jewelry." His wife continued.

"You were threatened?" They nodded, tears streaming down their cheeks. He turned back to Watson. "I don't think this concerns us."

"Didn't I tell you that already?" Watson said.

"I was just making sure, Watson." Holmes said, walking away from the scene. "If a murder occurs, then it's our business."  
"I suppose." He followed. Melody and Irene followed as well. While they were walking, Holmes stopped out of nowhere, causing everyone to bump into him. Melody, being the smallest, was knocked off her feet.

"Terribly sorry, Madam." Holmes said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the ground. She smiled, showing him she was alright.

"Why did you stop, Sherlock?" Irene asked.

"I have a theory." He replied.

"And that would be…?" Watson asked, gesturing for him to continue with his story. Holmes cleared his throat before he began to speak.

"The biggest mystery of any murder is how they escaped." He began. "For instance, when you find a door locked from the inside, you began to wonder 'how did the murderer leave the room?' Well, I have the answer to that question!"  
"Yes?" They asked in unison.

"We found rope by the hotel, correct?" They all nodded. "I suspect two men climbed up the rope to the balcony. The window was already open, so they climbed in. As they got in, the murderer killed Mr. Jackson. He unlocked the door and went to the other room. Hiding in the closet, he waited for them to come. I am sure he picked the lock, but did not break it. Once inside, he locked the door. Before the couple had the chance to lock the door, he jumped out, killing them. That is why the door was unlocked when Watson and I checked." He took a deep breath and coughed slightly. He continued after a minute or two, "Meanwhile, the accomplice locks the door, makes sure the room key is safe in Mr. Jackson's pockets, and climbs back down the balcony. He pulls the rope and it falls to the ground. He does not pick it up, and instead leaves it there." He became silent, and watched them with eagerness for their opinion.

"How does the murderer escape the room, Holmes?" Watson asked.

"I cannot answer that, Watson. He may have been able to sneak out."

"That's a good theory, Sherlock." Irene commented with a smile; she was trying to make amends for what happened the night before.

"Thank you, Irene." He replied.

"I agree…" Melody spoke up. "But, it does not tell us who the murderer is and why he killed my brother and those people."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that, Miss Jackson. I know we will find the man responsible for these horrible deeds." Holmes was about to walk forward, and ponder over everything and come up with a solution, but something caught his eye. A man was by the jewelry store, holding heaps of shining jewelry, and running. The wind was blowing hard as he ran. "I'll be right back." He said, running after the man. Everyone else ran after him. The man looked behind to see them chasing him and he attempted to run faster. However, he quickly lost control and fell to the ground, spilling the jewels. They clattered to the ground. Holmes chucked under his breath and approached the man.

"Hello." He said.

"What do you want? Go away!" He screamed. Holmes walked over him and noticed he was the man who was sitting in the back of the tattoo parlor reading the magazine.

"Tell me. Why'd you do it?"  
"Do what?!" Holmes turned to Irene, Watson, and Melody who all confused.

"Ladies and Gentleman, I would like you to meet the Butterfly Killer!"  
"The Butterfly Killer?" They asked.

"Yes!" He pointed to the man on the ground; he tried crawling away, so Holmes put one foot on his back to prevent him from escaping. "You are so clever, aren't you?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about!" He yelled, groaning in pain. Holmes knelt down and lifted up the man's shirt. On his side, there was a butterfly tattoo. It was identical to the one on the drawing. Melody gasped. He managed to push Holmes's foot off, and stood up.

"You put the tattoo on a place where no one would look. But, as you were running, the wind blew your shirt up, revealing the tattoo." He smirked in triumph. "Have you any reason for the murders?"  
"Many." He growled. "My name is Michael Kipper. All those people… I loathed them all. I went to a boy's school and I was an outcast. They would beat me up every day after school, and the girls from the school across the street would come and cheer them on. That is why I killed those couples."

"Michael Kipper?" Melody asked, taking an involuntary step forward.

"Melody Jackson…" Michael said, lifting her chin up with his index finger. "It's been so long. You were the only one who didn't make fun of me. While your brother and his friends were messing with me, you were the only one who didn't cheer them on." She let a tear slide from her eyes, and jerked away from him and ran behind Watson. "You are probably thinking that this is a stupid reason to kill people, but it isn't. If you knew the pain I went through, you would be doing the same thing."  
"Somehow I hardly doubt that." Holmes commented. Michael ignored him and turned his eyes to Irene. Holmes followed his gaze.

"Irene Adler, so we meet again."  
"Do I know you?" Irene asked coldly.

"Did you forget?" Michael asked, with a slight laugh. He pointed to the diamond ring on her finger. "You stole that from me a few months ago. It was the last keepsake I had of my mother." Irene covered the ring with her other hand. Something happened none of them expected. Michael took out a gun from his coat and shot. It missed Irene by an inch. Because of that, Holmes took out his revolver and pointed it at him.

"I was planning to only to take you to jail, sir. But, now it's personal. Watson!" Watson left Melody's side and took out his revolver as well. They both began shooting. Michael got hit by some of them, but managed to avoid most of them.

"You're going to get yours, Irene Adler. No one has ever wronged me and gotten away with it!" He screamed. She fell to the ground in terror. Holmes tried to shoot, but all he heard was a clicking noise; he was out of bullets. How did this happen? Then, he remembered; he did not reload it after shooting the wall a few days ago.

"I'm out of bullets, Watson!" He yelled.

"I'm on it." Before Watson could shoot, Holmes grabbed his arm. "What are you doing, Holmes?"  
"Let me do it." He said.

"But why?"  
"Because there is no worst humiliation than not being able to protect the woman you love." He whispered. Watson nodded, and handed him his revolver. He pointed the gun at Michael and shot. Michael screamed in pain and fell to the ground. With one more shot, he died. Holmes did not go to the body and instead ran to Irene's side. She was not so scared anymore. "Are you alright, Irene?"  
"I thought you didn't care about me." She said with a smile.

"Well, I was lying, now, wasn't I?" He smirked, meeting her lips with his. "I love you, you know that?"  
"I had a hunch."

"So, are you going to tell me why you didn't come to dinner?"  
"I was about to leave, but then I realized… If I went, my feelings would expand for you, and I was afraid of that. It's hard for me to get close to people and when it does happen, it scares me."

"It's alright, I forgive you." Holmes said.

"Why, thank you." She replied.

The case of the Butterfly Killer was over. Melody was grateful for all their help, and was happy that the man who murdered her brother and other people was silenced. They found that the accomplice was the man with the shaved head, and that was why he did not give the name of his friend when they asked if anyone had a butterfly tattoo. He was sent to jail. Mary was finally reunited with Watson, and they spent the next few days together. Irene stayed with Holmes and told him he had to understand if she had to leave; he did, but she would be back. She always did come back. A few nights after the case, Holmes and Irene went on a double date with Watson and Mary at the Royale, and they had a good time just chatting over dinner. Holmes enjoyed solving cases, but after this complicated one, he hoped he didn't get one for a while, so he could just relax. All was well. For now… at least.

Again, thank you so much for all the lovely comments and reviews; I'm glad this fanfic was a favorite for a lot of people. =]] I'm sorry that I had to end it; I was running short on ideas and could not make more than ten chapters. So, thank you again!! I will continue writing stories!


End file.
